


Sunflowers

by neck_mole



Series: Carry On Countdown 2018 [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Normals, Ficlet, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 08:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neck_mole/pseuds/neck_mole
Summary: My mouth hangs open, squinting at him as he tries to bullshit an answer to me and rambling off about them. It’s somehow the most endearingly idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.I suppose I unintentionally verbalize that. “That is the most endearing idiotic thing I think I’ve ever heard anyone say.”-It’s a relatively calm day at the shop. That is, until a bumbling bloke comes in trying to act like he knows everything.





	Sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Hey kiddos! First day of COC 2018!

There’s never quite a sunny, summer day where people don’t trickle in to smell what’s blooming. Bursting reds and pinks, lively yellows and mellow blues. Everyone comes in to pick out one, maybe for their partner, and seem to leave cheerful as ever.

 

Except, maybe this bloke. He’s been here for less than 30 seconds, and I can already tell he’s one of those customers who just comes in to smell. I’d say there’s probably a girlfriend involved, but that concept went out the window when he went right past the roses and just started sniffing the peonies and lavender sprigs.

 

I clear my throat, leaning elbows-down on the counter and peering over the edge. “Are you looking for anything, sir?”

 

He does a full spin to face me, foot shuffling aside to catch his balance--scuffed vans. Getting a good look at him, I can’t say he’s anything beyond maybe a year older than me. He’s sort of a mess though; not in the way that someone who has no other choice, but in the way that he seems like a 23 year old who can’t color coordinate an outfit beyond jeans and red-and-grey tees with checkered vans and, fucking hell, bright green socks. His hairs  _ combed _ despite being curly, and I’m relatively sure he’s blissfully unaware that his cross-necklace is spun around wrong.

 

“No, I think I’m okay. The flowers are pretty.”

 

I stare at him, blinking as I try to figure whether or not he’s joking, but the way he’s grinning seems unfortunately genuine. “Brilliant observation,” I monotone, watching as he practically dances around the store smelling and staring at floral arrangements. It isn’t exactly policy to kick out loiters, but if he doesn’t buy anything and just bumbles around instead feels a bit… odd.

 

I open my mouth to try to say something, but I’m cut off before I even say anything. “Didya know sunflowers mean happy?”

 

They… don’t? “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, whenever ya look at a sunflower, you feel happy, right?” He picks up one, grinning at it as his hand wraps around two and plucks them out, bringing them to the counter. “Look at ‘em. They’re all bright and sunny. Ain’t that pretty?”

 

My mouth hangs open, squinting at him as he tries to bullshit an answer to me and rambling off about them. It’s somehow the most endearingly idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.

 

I suppose I unintentionally verbalize that. “That is the most endearing idiotic thing I think I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

 

He blinks, looking up at me before frowning. “What’d’you mean? They’re all sunny and happy-- _ sunflower _ . That’s why they’re named that!”

 

I can’t help but roll my eyes, plucking one of the stalks hanging from his fingertips and observing the flower closely as I ramble in a borderline bored voice. “While the  _ yellow _ means happiness, sunflowers are more about adoration and loyalty.” My eyes flick over to his, catching his gaze as I continue. “They’ve been used as gifts for third wedding anniversaries as to represent the longevity of the relationship and the strength it’s held over the first few years.”

 

His eyes seem to travel between the flower in my hand then back to my eyes, smiling after a minute. “That’s sort of neat,” he says, a sort of lopsided grin splattered across his face. “So like, a lion?”

 

“A  _ lion? _ ”

 

“Loyal!” he chirps up, nose wrinkling. “Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve never heard  _ that _ one?”

 

Dear lord, he’s adorable. “I… yes. I have heard that one.”

 

He hums aloud, twirling the stalk in his hand twice before saying “Y’know, some people say I’m like a lion. Some people as in my best friend, Penn. She’s absolutely brilliant.” He blinks then smiles indescribably wider. “Shit! Do you have penelopes?”

 

I nod, standing upright and stepping away from behind the counter, finding them and plucking a few. “They clash with sunflowers, though. Typically, sunflowers don’t go into a bouquet…”

 

“I don’t think Penn will care much,” he says, shrugging his shoulders upwards before looking at them. “I think she’ll like ‘em,” he leans up to whisper, cupping his hand a bit, “she kills all the flowers she gets hold of, though.”

 

I cock a brow at him, glancing down. “It’s… not  _ that _ hard to keep them alive…”

 

“It is to her,” he shrugs  _ again _ , hands stuffing into his pockets. “I’ll take ‘em.”

 

I sigh and nod, bringing them over and wrapping them up nicely, adding a bow and all. I pack in some food, pausing and picking up a pen and pointing it at him first. “I’m writing down my number. Text-- _ don’t call _ \--if you have any questions for me. I can help keep these alive for you.”

 

He nods sharply. “Yessir,” he says, tipping two fingers to me as a salute before grinning. “Thank you.”

 

I just huff, nodding as I carefully write out my number, writing a small “- Baz” below it before telling him his total. He digs out cash, handing it over and rocking on his heels as he collect his change and hand it over. He takes the bouquet, sniffing it as he waves and leaves. Through the glass windows, I watch as he takes out the note and reads it; I can make out him saying my name. “Baz”, he mouths to himself, a smile spreading across his face as he strolls past.

 

I’m half expecting to never hear from him again, but a few days later, I get texts from an unknown number that can only be from him.

 

**hi this is simon!!!!!**

 

**so the plant’s kinda dying**

 

**the sunflower one**

 

**i think it’s dying D:**

 

**help? thanks**

 

I suppose his name’s Simon, then.

 

_ did you pot it, by any chance, or simply put it in water? _

 

**uh**

 

**was i supposed to do the soil thing?**

 

_ yes.  _

 

**oh**

 

**that explains a lot**

 

**thanks !**

 

Cue another few days of silence, before he starts texting me with more questions.

 

Days later, he’s texting me daily picture updates of the flowers, to which I now know he’s named them Simon 1 and Simon 2 and has taken to drawing on the pictures to give them hats (poorly done, but cute nonetheless). He ended up taking a “Family Portrait” with them, as in a selfie against his windowsill with both of them beside as he grins. That’s now his profile picture, along the contact name “Adorable Disaster”.

 

At this point, we don’t  _ only _ text about Simon 1 & 2\. He’s gotten into the habit of asking me how my day is, sending me pictures of anything he finds that’s cool, and at least twice now he’s texted me instead of his roommate asking if I’d picked up the groceries.

 

I’m not quite sure  _ what _ that makes us, especially since he’s walking into my shop today, about two weeks after we first met, grinning and wearing tattered up jean shorts (fucking hell). Today, though, he looks confident as shit.

 

Today, he picks up a single red rose.

 

He just nods his fucking head, smiles at me and peeps in a “Hi Baz!” before picking up a  _ single red rose _ and having the audacity to bring it to the counter.

 

Am I jealous? Yes. Do I let it show? No.

 

I ring it up silently, eyes downcasted as he takes it and holds it for a minute, standing in front of me. What does he think he’s doing? Why’s he still here? Hasn’t he got a rose to bring to some--

 

“Baz,” he says quietly, softer than I think anyone’s ever said my name before. I meet his gaze, finding him offering the rose back. I watch him, unmoving and trying to school my expression.

 

“Yes? What is it?”

 

“It’s for you,” he says, offering it. “I’m--uh--I’m asking you out.”

 

“You… what?”

 

He keeps the flower extended, unwavering as he smiles just a tad. “I’m askin’ you out on a date.”

 

I stare, taking a second to process it entirely before checking my time. “I get off at six,” I say, trying to not lose my composure as I take the rose from his hand, our fingertips brushing. “Meet me here? I know a good cafe not too far.”

 

He breaks into his face-full of a grin, nodding. “I’ll be here,” he says cheerfully, hesitantly leaning across the counter and planting a quick peck to my cheek. He steps back, cheeks and eartips pink as he smiles and waves, practically bouncing at the door and leaving me with a hand pressed to the spot where his lips just rested and my heart racing.

 

I’m wearing the rose when he gets me.


End file.
